


Flawless

by Noah_Jabberwock



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Black Jackals are not the real Black Jackals, Cyborgs, Discrimination, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Guerrilla Warfare, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miya Atsumu is a Good Brother, Osamu too, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Apocalypse, Sort Of, no beta reading we die like men, whatever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29801409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noah_Jabberwock/pseuds/Noah_Jabberwock
Summary: A new, treacherous Evil has been afflicting the mankind since the end of the Great Nuclear War. An Evil that has the semblances of an excruciating Disease that causes the loss of parts of the body. The infected ones replace the limbs they don't have anymore with high-tech prosthesis, but their lives are changed forever.In a reality where the Normals call the Re-Mades as "monsters", Miya Atsumu is a stubborn asshole with a heart of gold; he has understood who are the real monsters in that world; to whom the Disease has corrupted the body and to whom the soul.---After that night, Atsumu’s existence have been flowing quietly; he has found a new job and he has been making up a new life for his brother and himself.But even after all this time, he keeps wondering a question that afflicts the mankind since its dawn.When has the “different” become so scary?
Relationships: Background Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou, Background Akaashi Keiji/Kuroo Tetsurou, Background Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou - Relationship, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, background Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, background Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Kudos: 6





	Flawless

**Author's Note:**

> Well, yeah, here we go with a new project in a new fandom.  
> As you've seen in the summary, yeah, disease even here. This quarantine hasn't been kind to me.  
> Usually I have the bad habit of not ending fics when I'm not in the mood of writing them anymore, but I have good feelings about this one. I hope I will reach my goal to write the word "End" to this one. Due to this reason, I won't be really on time with updates. Let's say one in ten/fifteen days!  
> A little initial warning: at the beginning of this chapter (the prologue) there is one of the scene I put the tag "graphic depiction of violence" for. It's not that graphic, but if you understand what happen (I hope so, at least) you'll see it's not something light.  
> Anyway, I'm a poor not-English native speaker, so if you see any mistake in my work, please tell me and I'll correct!  
> (If somebody is interested in being my beta-reader I'll be really happy and grateful)  
> So, let's start this journey!

Osamu screams and his voice echoes in the street.

Atsumu knows he will have nightmares for all his life. He will dream this scene over and over, won’t be able to sleep at nights yet to come, tormented by his brother’s cries and painful sobs.

This night for sure he won't sleep. The nightmare is just begun, but with a terrible, disgusting, added truth: this isn’t some imaginary vision made up by his tired mind, this is reality.

The smell of blood becomes unbearable, Atsumu wants to puke. The sense of nausea clenches his stomach, threatening to make him spit out the (very few) things he has been eating in the last, long, surreal hours.

“Tsumu … I don’t think...” Osamu’s voice is hoarse, he has been shouting with all the breath he had in his tired, achy body. Atsumu sees Osamu closing his eyes, gulping and looking for every crumb of strength left in his corroded legs to take another step. For a second – a blissful, hoped moment – it seems as he can make it.

This gives Atsumu more strenght.

“Shut up, ya idiot! Save your breath, we’re almost at the hospital!” Atsumu knows it is a false hope: nobody at a hospital for Normals would take charge to help and cure someone with the Disease. But Atsumu has unwavering and immovable faith in human kindness.

He is too young to be disillusioned, to believe that nobody would soothe the pain of a young boy who has just lost everything.

Atsumu holds tighter his brother’s left arm around the neck, carrying on himself all Osamu’s weight.

Atsumu gulps a knot of saliva, ignoring the insistent smell of blood and sweat, focusing on his steps, on the cool air of the night, on the lights of the city and of the hospital in the distance.

“I’ll save ya, ‘Samu, and one day ya’ll hafta repay me with all the food ya can cook”.

It is easier to think in that way, to depict a future were both of them survive.

 _Don’t dare to die on me, ‘Samu. Don’t dare, I won’t forgive ya, if ya do so_.

Atsumu presses the fingers in his brother’s arm, imposing to both of them to make another step. The tender, hot flesh under his fingertips grounds him to reality.

“Tsumu, I won’t … please, tell mum and dad...”

“There aren’t mum and dad anymore” Saying that makes his stomach wrench more than the reek of blood and the stink of rotten flesh – Osamu’s flesh…

Atsumu fights the tears and tries to forget, keeping focus even if his mind tries to fly to the memories of that very morning, when everything was fine, when the nightmare had yet to start.

When their parents loved and supported them before they turned their back, denying of the reality.

 _Osamu is ill_.

_Osamu has the Disease._

_Osamu is going to be one of them._

_Osamu wasn’t their son anymore_.

Atsumu isn’t able to understand how people can deny the love of a lifetime in the span of an hour.

He grits his teeth, feeling the tears stroking his cheeks. He mustn’t think about them: he has to think about ‘Samu, because his brother doesn’t have anyone by his side anymore. Just Atsumu.

Atsumu bites his own lips in frustration and exhales slowly, staring at the hospital, closer and closer.

“Tsumu … my legs...” Osamu’s choked words make Atsumu snap out from his thoughts.

Atsumu watches his twin’s leg shivering, the left one giving up under his weight as Atsumu is dragged down by his twin’s heavy body. He watches as his twin’s flesh of the thigh starts to darken and the skin tearing itself apart, showing the firsts drops of blood. The reek of body fluids becomes more intense all of a sudden.

Atsumu’s eyes fills with tears and his breath trembles. “’Samu … It’s nothin’, ‘Samu.” It doesn’t even seem his voice “If … if you can stand f-for just a second, I can p-pick you up piggyback and...”

Osamu screams again as Atsumu leans against him. He doesn’t want to look at his legs.

Atsumu tugs his arm against his neck and shoulders, ignoring his brother’s laments. If he pays too much attention to his kin he will feel the same pain and if Atsumu can’t help Osamu, than everything will be useless. The young man looks around: they are in an alley; few meters over, there is a main street and people walk up and down, unaware of the sorrow and the struggle taking place not far from them.

Atsumu takes a long breath and wipes his tears. Maybe he could ask for help; maybe, somebody would offer it. He is too young to be disillusioned.

He takes again his brother by the wrist, passing an arm around his torso and under his armpit. “C’mon, ‘Samu, I’ll...”

Osamu shouts once more and Atsumu’s heart falls apart hearing how much that yell sounds like a wounded animal surrounded by hunters.

Atsumu takes a step and his twin breathes harder, as if he doesn’t have the force to shout anymore.

Tears rolls down Atsumu’s cheeks, fogging his sight.

Atsumu cries loudly and calls for help. Some figures on the main street turn to them. They stare and, comprehending the matter, keep walking, sparing a second glance. Atsumu stares at them, defeated.

He is _not_ too young to be disillusioned.

Inhaling, he plants a foot in the ground, not thinking about the fatigue, the fear, the disappointment, the hunger, the rage… nothing. Just his brother, by his side; his brother, who needs medical care.

If Atsumu had been older, he would have helped Osamu. If he had been able to attend to the medical school as he’d always dreamed, he wouldn't have had to rely on the assistance of someone else to save his brother.

But he’s just sixteen and the Doom has been a bitch and that day on a whim, it has crushed all the plans he had made for himself, fucking up every dream of peaceful life.

Atsumu was prepared for troubles and shifts of plan; he just hasn’t been expecting them to be this way.

Everything will change tonight. If they survive to see the next day.

Atsumu will do whatever it’s in his power to make that happen.

“’Samu … I swear, I’ll save-” He tugs at Osamu’s arm again.

But Atsumu’s world crumbles when he feels his brother’s weight detaching from the limb as a hot wave spreads on his left arm and shoulder.

Atsumu doesn’t watch, just stands silent, listening to his twin’s only scream – so animalistic, so desperate, so inhuman - breaching through his flesh and tender heart. And then, it stops like Atsumu’s heart does at the same time.

Frantic breathes follow and Atsumu doesn’t know if they are Osamu’s or his own. He doesn’t want to look. His arms go slack to his sides, letting fall _everything he has in hands._

Nausea invests him and the ground disappears under his feet.

Atsumu feels swallowed by the dark matter of the reality, slowly losing half part of his soul, second after second.

Atsumu cries with all the air left in his lungs, directing his rage to the world; to the moon so up in the sky not far the Platforms; to the people who have abandoned them; to the hospital that is too far.

He curls on himself, still crying, not daring to look at his brother fallen beside him. He thinks that if he looked, he would die himself. He can't bear the betrayed gaze on his brother’s face, Osamu who blames him for letting him die in a dirty alley.

When Atsumu covers his face with both hands, a last pleading of help leaves his lips.

Just a whisper, for nobody to hear.

Or for heaven, to have mercy on two innocent souls.

“ _We’ll take care of him..._ ”

Atsumu’s head spins when someone puts the hands on his shoulders to jerk him awake from his private nightmare. A determined, reassuring smile greets him; it’s bold and shiny in the artificial lights. Those curved lips are warm as his mother’s hug, before that morning.

Atsumu doesn’t know where those people come from, but it takes him just a glance to understand they are on their side. Atsumu can see it in their strong arms as they move his brother’s body (a tall, strong, dark boy puts the arms around his brother’s body, carrying him as if he is something precious), in their attentive eyes as they watch over the alley, in his careful fingers as he touches Atsumu’s neck, looking at him with a soft gaze which has the ability to calm and put Atsumu at ease.

The boy doesn’t stop smiling. He is young. All of them are.

“ _You can call me Kuroo_ ”.

Atsumu knows then his supplication has reached the Paradise. What he hadn’t expected was that angels were so young, with ruffled, black hair and with a cybernetic _prosthetical_ jaw.

\- - - -

Nobody knows when the Disease really started as well as nobody knows what caused it.

Nobody knows if, at the beginning, it was virus, a bacteria or some genetic mutation well hidden in human DNA. And if it is a genetic thing, nobody still knows what has triggered it, if the nuclear radiation of the Greatest War at beginning of the century or the increasing pollution in air and water or what else.

Scientists hasve been attempting to understand, but they have been making just baby steps; every research goes down in an impasse, leaving the entire humanity with less and less hope.

Some researches says it has begun as a virus: it could affect the genetic heritage and so it has become hereditary, in some way.

The medics have named it in a long and scientific way; too many letters to be comfortable to remember.

The common people call it with another name: the Shylock Disease. An illness that demands your flesh and your bones.

It can’t be detected by the DNA scans or in the forming fetus in the mother’s womb. It just appears at some point of youth of a person, at any moment and without notice: an excruciating pain as your meat rots and your bones corrode. The 40% of the human population is affected by.

The amputation is the only manner to stop it, leaving behind people and lives marked in an irreversible way. For somebody – the lucky ones – the amputation can be related to just a fingertip or a part of the body that can be easily covered; for those who aren’t that lucky, it can be entire limbs or parts of the skull.

Medics and researchers have been working on everything that can be helpful to understand how it works, to get just little of information about new ways to cure and heal.

Still, nobody knows how the Disease spreads.

Still, nobody knows how to heal it, how to prevent it, how to stop it.

Those who have their limbs amputated, replace them with prosthesis, more or less sophisticated. It has continued for years, the innovation and the brilliant minds that haven’t been able to find a cure, created new affordable and strong materials to make artificial, alternate limbs.

Those who don’t have the Disease – those who have been proclaiming themselves as “the Normals” - call those who have been affected “the Re-Mades”.

They hate them. The Normals cannot even stand to look at the Re-Mades in face, considering them as the evil of the world, those to blame. The infectors, not the victims.

The richest people among the Normals have been creating places where to go on with their lives: huge Platforms hung up in the skies of the biggest cities, where the air is cleaner and they are far from the sight of the Re-Mades and of the less rich Normals. The Platforms are described as the heaven on earth – or, the heaven in the skies. Those houses the biggest mansions and real trees, with pure air to breathe.

Place where the richest pretend everything is fine, when down below nothing hasn’t been fine at all for many years.

The Re-Mades have been facing every form of discrimination, with the regular Police just turning their head and pretending not seeing. The discrimination and the persecutions have been going over for years.

Many groups of rebels have been raising among the Re-Mades to fight against that rotten system; the Re-Made population refers to them as “guardian angels”; the Normals just as terrorists.

It has been urban warfare for years. For many years, news and internet have been reporting about attacks almost on daily base: explosions in public zones, kidnapping of public figures, armed occupation of seat of powers…

Also, many no-profit association of Normals and Non-violent groups of Re-Made took a stand in the fight.

Many governments have been deciding to conclude agreements with the largest and most important groups of rebels of the biggest cities of the planet. Formally, discrimination is over and things have been better in recent times, even if just slightly.

Miya Atsumu has been taking an obvious side about the matter, when flesh of his own flesh is one of the Re-Mades; when their saviors are part of those group of rebels.

After that night, Atsumu’s existence have been flowing quietly; he has found a new job and he has been making up a new life for his brother and himself.

But even after all this time, he keeps wondering a question that afflicts the mankind since its dawn. 

_When has the “different” become so scary?_

**Author's Note:**

> Quick information: my idea of Re-Mades (as well as the name) comes from the book "Perdido Street Station" by China Miéville!  
> I hope you enjoyed the reading and thank you. I don't know when I'll update the next chapter, let's say "see you soon" so I'm morally obliged to keep the promise.  
> N.J.


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